Among the sources of charm and beauty in style there are, I conceive, four which are paramount and essential, — melody, rhythm, variety, and the appropriateness demanded by these three. Under “charm” I class freshness, grace, euphony, sweetness, persuasiveness, and all similar qualities; and under “beauty” grandeur, impressiveness, solemnity, dignity, mellowness, and the like. For these seem to me the most important — the main heads, so to speak, in either case. The aims set before themselves by all serious writers in epic, dramatic, or lyric poetry, or in the so-called “language of prose,” are those specified, and I think those specified, and I think these are all. There are many excellent authors who have been distinguished in one or both of these qualities. It is not possible at present to adduce examples from the writings of each one of them; I must not waste time over such details; and besides, if it seems incumbent on me to say something about some of them individually, and to quote from them anywhere in support of my views, I shall have a more suitable opportunity for doing so, when I sketch the various types of literary arrangement. For the present, what I have said of them is quite sufficient. So I will now return to the division I made of composition into charming and beautiful, in order that my discourse may “keep to the track,” as the saying is.
Well, I said that the ear delighted first of all in melody, then in rhythm, thirdly in variety, and finally in appropriateness as applied to these other qualities. As a witness to the truth of my words I will bring forward experience itself, for it cannot be challenged, confirmed as it is by the general sentiment of mankind. Who is there that is not enthralled by the spell of one melody while he remains unaffected in any such way by another, — that is not captivated by this rhythm while that does but jar upon him? Ere now I myself, even in the most popular theatres, thronged by a mixed and uncultured multitude, have seemed to observe that all of us have a sort of natural appreciation for correct melody and good rhythm. I have seen an accomplished harpist, of high repute, hissed by the public because he struck a single false note and so spoilt the melody. I have seen, too, a flute-player, who handled his instrument with the practised skill of a master, suffer the same fate because he blew thickly or, through not compressing his lips, produced a harsh sound or so-called “broken note” as he played. Nevertheless, if the amateur critic were summoned to take up the instrument and himself to render any of the pieces with whose performance by professionals he was just now finding fault, he would be unable to do it. Why so? Because this is an affair of technical skill, in which we are not all partakers; the other of feeling, which is nature’s universal gift to man. I have noticed the same thing occur in the case of rhythms. Everybody is vexed and annoyed when a performer strikes an instrument, takes a step, or sings a note, out of time, and so destroys the rhythm.
Again, it must not be supposed that, while melody and rhythm excite pleasure, and we are all enchanted by them, variety and appropriateness have less freshness and grace, or less effect on any of their hearers. No, these too fairly enchant us all when they are really attained, just as their absence jars upon us intensely. This is surely beyond dispute. I may refer, in confirmation, to the case of instrumental music, whether it accompanies singing or dancing; if it attains grace perfectly and throughout, but fails to introduce variety in due season or deviates from what is appropriate, the effect is dull satiety and that disagreeable impression which is made by anything out of harmony with the subject. Nor is my illustration foreign to the matter in hand. The science of public oratory is, after all, a sort of musical science, differing from vocal and instrumental music in degree, not in kind. In oratory, too, the words involve melody, rhythm, variety, and appropriateness; so that, in this case also, the ear delights in the melodies, is fascinated by the rhythms, welcomes the variations, and craves always what is in keeping with the occasion. The distinction between oratory and music is simply one of degree.
Now, the melody of spoken language is measured by a single interval, which is approximately that termed a fifth. When the voice rises towards the acute, it does not rise more than three tones and a semitone; and, when it falls towards the grave, it does not fall more than this interval. Further, the entire utterance during one word is not delivered at the same pitch of the voice throughout but one part of it at the acute pitch, another at the grave, another at both. Of the words that have both pitches, some have the grave fused with the acute on one and the same syllable — those which we call circumflexed; others have both pitches falling on separate syllables, each retaining its own quality. Now in disyllables there is no space intermediate between low pitch and high pitch; while in polysyllabic words, whatever their number of syllables, there is but one syllable that has the acute accent (high pitch) among the many remaining grave ones. On the other hand, instrumental and vocal music uses a great number of intervals, not the fifth only; beginning with the octave, it uses also the fifth, the fourth, the third, the tone, the semitone, and, as some think, even the quarter-tone in a distinctly perceptible way. Music, further, insists that the words should be subordinate to the tune, and not the tune to the words. Among many examples in proof of this, let me especially instance those lyrical lines which Euripides has represented Electra as addressing to the Chorus in the Orestes: —
Hush ye, O hush ye! light be the tread
Of the sandal; no jar let there be!
Afar step ye thitherward, far from his bed.
In these lines the words σῖγα σῖγα λευκόν are sung to one note; and yet each of the three words has both low pitch and high pitch. And the word ἀρβύλης has its third syllable sung at the same pitch as its middle syllable, although it is impossible for a single word to take two acute accents. The first syllable of τίθετε is sung to a lower note, while the two that follow it are sung to the same high note. The circumflex accent of κτυπεῖτε has disappeared, for the two syllables are uttered at one and the same pitch. And the word ἀποπρόβατε does not receive the acute accent on the middle syllable; but the pitch of the third syllable has been transferred to the fourth.
The same thing happens in rhythm. Ordinary prose speech does not violate or interchange the quantities in any noun or verb. It keeps the syllables long or short as it has received them by nature. But the arts of rhythm and music alter them by shortening or lengthening, so that often they pass into their opposites: the time of production is not regulated by the quantity of the syllables, but the quantity of the syllables is regulated by the time.
The difference between music and speech having thus been shown, some other points remain to be mentioned. If the melody of the voice — not the singing voice, I mean, but the ordinary voice — has a pleasant effect upon the ear, it will be called melodious rather than in melody. So also symmetry in the quantities of words, when it preserves a lyrical effect, is rhythmical rather than in rhythm. On the precise bearing of these distinctions I will speak at the proper time. For the present I will pass on to the next question, and try to show how a style of civil oratory can be attained which, simply by means of the composition, charms the ear with its melody of sound, its symmetry of rhythm, its elaborate variety, and its appropriateness to the subject. These are the headings which I have set before myself.